#107 You Killed Your Hobby the Day You Charged for It

Your hands once moved because they wanted to move. No audience. No schedule. No reason.

Then someone praised it. Said it could be sold. And you heard the praise, because you had been trained to hear a price as a form of worth. You did not notice the leash inside the compliment.

Now your hands move on command. The product is reliable. The pleasure is gone, but that no longer matters, because no one asks about the pleasure. Ask yourself what you still own: the craft, or the obedience.